


Fatal Attraction

by gayouijaboard



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Assassin AU, F/M, I posted this on tumblr and at this point I’m just capitalizing because people liked it I guess, Other, bucky’s A flirty little shit what else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 07:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15068651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayouijaboard/pseuds/gayouijaboard
Summary: Bucky Barnes is quite the flirt, even when you’re trying to murder him.





	1. Hello Again

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I’m Sev! I posted this fic on tumblr and wanted to share it on here as well! I hope you all like it, let me know what you think! Updates will be relatively quick, as I already have the rest written!

You watched him from down the street, shadows from the alley lending you a camouflage as you scanned his body from head to toe. Someone, presumably Steve Rogers, had dragged him out tonight — James Barnes was not the type to casually venture out to a bar for fun, not from what you had observed these past few weeks. He mainly spent his free time quietly visiting children in hospitals, begrudgingly sitting for press interviews at Nick Fury’s request, and needlessly sharpening his sniper’s eye. The man was a hard worker, but he didn’t appear to know how to relax, and he was the furthest from being a partier one could get.

All of this to say that it was highly unlikely that he was armed tonight. Between the jeans and the tighter than was necessary button down, there would be no way for him to be carrying a gun. A knife could potentially be strapped into his waist band or in his expensive looking boots, but even that was pushing it. His weapons weren’t a concern, though, and at the moment, neither was he. James’ guard was down; his most effective form of defense had been dropped. This night, in this moment, you were more dangerous than he was.

The perfect time to strike was now.

He was walking away from the bar, making his way to the opening of your alley at a leisurely pace. His phone was held to his ear, his tone dripping with exasperation as raised his eyes to the sky and carried himself away from the friendly lights of the bar. You tightened your grip on the handle of the knife in your hand, palm slightly sweaty, and prepared yourself to strike. Your handler’s voice was chattering away lowly in your ear piece, so you reached up quickly and switched it off. There could be no distractions if you were to complete this mission; if you were to gain your freedom.

“I’m just getting some air, Steve,” James insisted, the defensive tone he took reminiscent of an unhappy child. “No. Look, I’ll be back inside in a few minutes, okay? Because I didn’t even want to come out tonight and you _knew_ —“

You quietly but swiftly stepped out of the alley as soon as he’d taken a few steps passed. Without hesitating, you wrapped an arm around his neck from behind, securing him in place and steadying yourself as you brought your knife around with your other hand, gently but insistently pressing the blade against his throat. Just enough pressure to draw a single drop of blood; enough to quietly threaten and promise that this night wasn’t going to go his way.

James halted immediately, and you could feel his muscles stiffening where your chest was pressed to his back. “Steve,” he sighed, resignation in his voice. “I might be outside a little longer than I thought.” He hung up his phone then, and quickly slipped it into the pocket of his jeans. Then, with a softer quality to his voice, “I was wondering when they might send you.”

“Don’t speak,” you hissed, pressing the blade further into his skin. Drops of blood were beading into thin streams, running down his skin and staining the collar of his shirt. “This can be quick and painless for the both of us.”

He scoffed, and you could practically hear the sarcastic smirk forming on his lips. “Long as I’ve known you, you’ve never been one to want anything to be quick and painless.” There was humor in his voice, but you hadn’t the capacity to deduce why; that would’ve required emotion and investment, two things which Hydra had made explicitly clear you weren’t capable of possessing. His fingers were creeping up his chest, walking over to rest on the back of your hand. “Do you know what year it is, Y/n?”

You didn’t; dates weren’t required for you to be able to perform missions. Last time you’d been conscious of the year had been around 1973. You also weren’t entirely sure who Y/n was, either. You hadn’t heard the name recently, but something about the way it rolled off James’ tongue scratched at your deepest memory. Not enough to be relevant, but just enough to give you pause.

“It’s 2018,” he went on, not bothering to wait for an answer. Something told you he knew he wasn’t going to get one, anyway. “If you were awake, you’d love it. We used to talk all the time about what the future might be like, and you used to be so in love with the fashion. It’s gotten better, long as you know the right people. And you’re allowed to like whoever you want, nobody bats an eye if you kiss guys, gals, or somebody who might be something else.” He paused, thoughtfully humming. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t piece together why he wasn’t more alert. You were in the middle of an assassination; why wasn’t your target acting accordingly? “Well, there are _some_ people who might get offended. But if you were awake, you’d tell ‘em all to get fucked. You were a real sweetheart like that.”

You shook your head, recognizing his tactic. He was distracting you, stalling for time. If you kept him long enough, Steve Rogers might come outside looking for him, and then it would be game over for you. One super soldier you could maybe handle. Two wasn’t an option in the slightest. “We’re done here,” you muttered, and plunged the knife forward, aiming for his carotid.

He had succeeded in distracting you, it seemed. While you had been focusing on his words, pondering what it was he was trying to communicate, James Barnes had fully wrapped his fingers around the back of your hand. It had been a sneaky move, and gave him the leverage needed to twist your arm at an angle, steering your knife away from making any contact with his flesh. Instead, he used his grip on his arm to whirl you around, bringing you to his front and pressing you to his chest, entrapping your knife hand between the two of you. Against your palm, even through the hilt of the knife, you could feel his heart beating clear through his chest.

What a strangely warm, familiar feeling that was.

“You look just the same,” he murmured, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he reached up his metal hand to brush the apple of your cheek with his knuckles. “A little rougher around the edges, but I’d still be willing to get thrown into cryo just to kiss you.”

You sucked at your teeth, wordlessly blinking and shaking your head at the tug of a memory which was trying its best to resurface. There was a flash of hands entangled in your hair and fiery warmth in your stomach each time you closed your eyes, but you pushed it away. Your handler had warned you this might happen. James Barnes was said to be a persuasive man, and could make anyone believe what he wanted to if given the correct amount of time. Still... the arch of his cheekbones, the graceful curve of the bow of his mouth. You couldn’t help the sense that you once knew this man, if a lifetime ago.

“I saw that,” he breathed, cupping your cheek in his metal palm. His blue eyes shone brightly in the dark shadows of the alley, half lidded as he stared longingly at you. “You’re not starting to remember me, are you Y/n?” He bent forward slowly, moving to press his mouth to yours. Reflexively, your lips parted with anticipation, watching as he neared and feeling as his skin brushed your ever so slightly.

You sent your free fist flying at his jaw, his neck snapping to the side with the force of it. It wasn’t your dominant hand, but it was effective nonetheless. He had been stunned just enough to give you the chance to slip out of his half embrace, and you stepped forward to slam your knee into his stomach. He groaned, unprepared for the wind to be knocked from him, and doubled over in pain. “My name isn’t Y/n,” you informed him, using the blade of your knife to lift his chin. His fiery blue eyes met your gaze once more, and something in your chest stirred at the light in them. Something in your chest _and_ the lower part of your stomach. “I have no name. And you aren’t special to me.”

James flicked his gaze down to your knife, held less carelessly to his throat this time around. He then looked back to you, and that insufferable smile at the corners of his mouth was enough to make you tense. “You and me in a back alley getting up to no good was always something of a dream of mine,” he muttered, tongue darting out to wet his lip. His pupils were slightly dilated, despite the darkness surrounding you two. “Is it weird that I’m kind of into this?”

“I’m going to kill you now,” you told him, eyeing him warily.

He only arched a brow, tilting his head to the side. “Really? You don’t sound too sure. Go ahead. I won’t try to stop you.”

You flexed your wrist, preparing to plunge your blade into his skin and be done with your mission. The Hydra officials had been kind to you tonight, a rarity in and of itself. They had promised that you wouldn’t be wiped tonight, if you successfully finished your mission. Not only that, but you could wander off into the base and find a real bed to sleep on for the night. How you _longed_ for a bed. Logic said offing James in exchange for a mattress, as you had been tasked with doing, made perfect sense.

And yet, somehow, you couldn’t force yourself to do it. Each time you tried, you saw different glimpses of the man before you behind your eyelids, his hair at varying lengths with each vision. His outfit and arm were always the constant, though. A black leather asset uniform and bright shining metal at his left side. That arm had been his superior’s pride and joy.

“You starting to remember me, beautiful?” he asked you, a gentle and friendly tone lending his voice the smoothness of honey. “Remember how we would used to hold hands, just before they stuck us back into cryo? How I’d rub my thumb ‘cross the back of your hand and you would smile? How we’d pretend we weren’t starting to remember, ‘cause if they caught us they’d wipe us and take it all away?”

Something in you wanted to remember this picture James was painting, but your mind was in conflict. You remembered James — _Winter_ , your mind whispered — and yet you didn’t. You knew what his mouth felt like against yours, yet you swore you had never had the pleasure of knowing. You remembered being physical with him, explicitly and illicitly, the two of you taking every opportunity you had to sneak away and be as close as you possibly could before having to report back for your duties, but your brain refused to display the memory for you.

“I don’t know you,” you insisted, shaking your head. It wasn’t clear whether you were attempting to convince him or yourself. “I don’t know you, I don’t care about you. I’m here to do a job so I can sleep in a bed.”

“Oh, sugar,” James chuckled softly, eyelashes fluttering as he slowed his gaze to take you up and down. “If it’s a bed you’re wanting, you are _more_ than welcome to come and sleep in mine.”

Sugar.

Bucky liked to call you sugar.

Fragments were coming back piece by piece, and you could see the random shards floating before you like a puzzle. You saw James in that long forgotten leather outfit, but you had known him as Bucky then; he’d introduced himself to you as soon as he’d remembered the name, offering the knowledge just before you had been put into cryo for five years. You saw Bucky walking at your side, a centimeter too close to be professional and resisting the urge to reach out and intertwine your fingers lest the Hydra operatives separate and wipe the two of you. You heard James screaming at other people on your behalf, saw him wailing in agony as he extended his hand out to you.

You wondered what all of it meant, but you also knew you couldn’t entertain these visions. You had a mission to complete. James was that mission.

“I don’t _know_ you,” you yelled, jamming the knife forward with your arm. Again, James had been prepared for it. His metal hand came up to encircle your wrist in a vice like grip, so tight you had no choice but to turn your body as he twisted it to keep it from breaking. Even if the bones had cracked you most likely wouldn’t have batted an eye; Hydra had beaten you out of caring about pain decades ago, when you’d been younger and gentler. You used your foot to hook around the back of James’ leg, kicking at the back of his leg and sending you both tumbling to the ground. “I _don’t_ know you and I don’t know who Y/n is. Just let me finish my fucking job, get _off_ me Bucky!”

Unfortunately the majority of his weight had landed on top of you, and he was able to swiftly grasp your wrists to pin you to the ground. Perhaps you might have had more luck if you hadn’t so carelessly given his words as much attention, but you hadn’t been able to help it. His words were pretty, and you weren’t supposed to want things, but you so desperately yearned for those memories in your head to be real. “You called me Bucky,” he breathed in your ear, his breath tickling the skin beside your neck. His eyes had widened in hope and wonder, and he hesitantly presses his forehead to yours. “Come on, darlin’, I _know_ I’m still in that pretty head of yours.”

“No you _aren’t_ ,” you screamed, struggling to no avail. You craned your neck and sank your teeth into his cheek. A little unconventional, but it was the only place you could reach.

James sucked in a pained breath, but had switched his hand on your wrist out for his elbow, digging it into the soft area until you yelled out and released his cheek. “Biting?” he gasped, pulling his head further away from yours to maintain a safe distance. “Really? Are we _twelve?_ ”

You could see the shock in his eyes, the pain and what looked to be heartbreak. How could that be the case if he didn’t know you? Perhaps... perhaps, maybe...

No. You didn’t know anyone. You were a machine. James Barnes knew nothing about you.

“Don’t make me do this, sugar,” he sighed, red welt raising on his cheek where you had sunk your teeth in. “Please don’t make me hurt you.” You set your jaw, already knowing this mission was a failed one. James was going to kill you, then. Did he expect you to beg for mercy? Was that why he was looking at you with wide eyes and parted pink lips?

At least he’d do it quick. If you had been returned to the Hydra base having failed your mission, they would spend days tearing you to pieces.

“I don’t know you,” was all you responded to him with.

James sighed, raising his eyes to the sky. He bit his lip, clearly unhappy with the situation, but unwilling to back down. “Okay,” he muttered, exhaling a breath through his nose. “Then you’d better forgive me for this when you wake up.” And before you could even wonder what he meant, he dropped both his hands from your wrists and brought them up to your head, which he lifted a few meters and then forcefully slammed into the concrete.

You were out before you had even registered what was happening.

Bucky stood, looking down at you a moment before stopping to pick you up. You hadn’t changed much at all, but then, you wouldn’t have. You weren’t aging correctly, and you were barely older than the last time he’d seen you, when he was still the Winter Soldier. Hydra always did use you less, when they still had him in their arsenal. Your face was the same, your hair longer than he remembered, and your outfit was head to toe black, reminiscent of his own assassin uniform. No wonder he hadn’t seen you while walking by the alley; you were visually comparable to a shadow.

“Alright, killer,” he murmured under his breath as he removed the knife from your hands and positioned you over his shoulder. “Let’s get you to that bed you wanted.” Gently placing a hand to the small of your back to ensure you didn’t go anywhere, Bucky reached down with his other and slid his phone out of his pockets, making a phone call and pressing his cell to his ear.

“You get lost or something?” his best friend’s voice sarcastically asked through the line.

“Steve, we’re gonna have to go home a little early,” he sighed, already walking down the street and carrying you in the direction of his car. “We have a bit of a situation.”


	2. A World Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Chapter 2 is a bit of a blast from the past and looks at how the relationship between Bucky and the reader came to be. This one was so much fun to write! I’d also just like to say that there are descriptions of blood and a mention of a body during the 1950 flashback, so just be wary of that! Thank you for reading!

**January 13th, 1946**

Everything was cold. The air caressing you, the freezing metal of the table like ice shards pressing against your bare back, the temperature within your chest. Even the voices bouncing off the walls, voices you could never be sure were truly there, sounded particularly devoid of warmth.

There were two of them. One gruff, deep, out of patience. The other was softer, more nervous, inexperienced. Perhaps they were the voices of your conscience — an angel and a devil. Opening your eyes would probably help you discern the accuracy to those thoughts, but something within you, a deep, powerful will told you to _wait_. Best to heed it; you didn’t know what might happen if you opened your eyes, what you might find. Best to steer clear of the unknown for as long as possible.

“Run through the full background report, Agent,” the gruff voice commanded. “This is part two of your evaluation.”

The owner of the second voice gulped, then started in on what had been requested of him. “Test subject 037, initiated to experimentation 6th of July, 1945. Subject was acquired from a family car wreck intentionally caused by the asset under Doctor Zola’s orders and was injected with serum onsite.” The reedy voice paused, clearing its throat and audibly swallowing before continuing with, “Test subject 037 has managed to outlive all other subjects injected with the serum by a full six months, and has completely recovered from injuries sustained in the car accident which consisted of a punctured lung, serious damage to the sternum, a shattered leg, and, most significantly, a lacerated spinal cord.”

“And?” the gruff voice pushed. You weren’t much a fan of this one.

“Subject only recently regained function of the lower extremities. It can be inferred that the soldier serum has the ability to heal almost any and all traumatic injuries if administered in time. All physical qualifications have been tested and met; we now need only to perfect the mind wiping process before being able to fully utilize this test subject and complete the asset initiation process.”

They rattled on, but your ears were beginning to filter their voices out. For a few moments, all you could hear was radio static along with a sharp, piercing ring. It was debilitating, made it hard to think of anything and everything. You were fighting to orient yourself, to recall any speck of information you could because you weren’t sure where or what or who you were. All you could say definitively was that you were conscious and in dire need of a temperature raise to your body heat. You opened your eyes, in search of a solution which could swiftly bring you warmth.

“It’s awake,” the gruff voice hissed. It. Was that you?

One of the men stepped into your field of view, and you had only needed to take one look at him before deducing which voice he possessed. “ _Guten abend, Frauline. Wie heißen Sie?_ ”

Had they been speaking German this whole time? You weren’t German. At least, you were pretty sure you weren’t. Come to think of it, you were only pretty sure of most of the thoughts running through your head.

“I... I don’t know,” you answered. You weren’t sure which language you answered in, only that you had. “Do I _have_ a name?”

The reedy voiced man made a mark on his clipboard before asking you another question. “Do you have a family?”

“I don’t know,” you answered again, fighting to fit the puzzle fragments together.

“How do you feel?”

“I...” you paused, and it felt like an empty hole had taken residence in your chest. You couldn’t feel anything for a few moments; pain, fear, curiosity, defiance. You were simply a living shell, unsure of what was happening or who these people were. It scared you, despite the fact that you weren’t really sure what it mean to be scared anymore, and the—

It snapped into place like a rubber band against your skin.

“Wait,” you breathed, blinking against the bright harshness of the room and begging the man above you to assist you however he could. It had taken a minute, but things were coming back to you, funneling into your memory like liquid in a pipe. “Wait, I’m... where am I? My father and I, we were in an accident. Do you know where he is?” He only stared at you, but this served to make you more frantic. Why wasn’t he helping? Why was he standing there? “Please, I think... I think my name is Y/n Y/l/n. This is important, _please_.”

“It didn’t work,” the scientist sighed, shaking his head and looking at you with sorrow. Why was he ignoring your pleas for help? Looking at you like you were some kind of failed experiment?

Later on, you would realize that was exactly what you were.

Through your panic and overwhelming confusion, you heard the gruff voice from before speak out, words echoing off the surface of the metal ceiling. “Start again,” it demanded, zero forgiveness present in the tone. “I want total reprogramming. This test subject is the _only_ other to survive the injection without extreme adverse effects. I want her ready for training by month’s end, or I’ll have the both of you terminated. Do you understand?”

_You_ didn’t; you didn’t understand what they were talking about, where you were, or why they were ignoring your calls for help. Who were these people? Why was it so cold? Why did you feel like you’d been through this scenario before, helpless to save yourself as the realization that something much, _much_ darker was going on here struck you like an oncoming vehicle?

You listened as the skittish scientist saluted his higher up in farewell. You saw his hand raise with the intent to proclaim, heard a single phrase fall from his nervous mouth before turning to you and beginning his work, silently refusing to answer any question you hurled at him. You heard the superior mumble the phrase back, already stepping away from the table you were strapped to, presumably to make a quick exit. You committed the words to memory, repeating them over and over in your mind in an effort to gain whatever knowledge of this place you could, but by the time the mantra had really begun to sink in, the electric shocks and the screams which seemed to wrack your entire body had already begun.

It hadn’t actually mattered, as you would later find out. That phrase they had shared between one another would ultimately become the very reason for your new found existence.

“Heil Hydra.”

—

**May 27th, 1950**

_Your blade drew clean across the woman’s neck, her blood spilling out and staining your hands a warm, sticky red. Her clothing, her hair, the hardwood floor beneath her still warm body, it had all become a slick mess. Seemed idiotic to leave such an obvious crime scene, but your superiors had made their wishes explicitly clear._

_This woman, Regina Hall, an investigative journalist who had gotten far too deep into her research for Hydra’s liking, had angered the higher ups in the organization. They had warned her on many occasions to cease and desist, but she had kept digging, kept searching for answers which no one else seemed to have the questions to. Perhaps the most depressing thing about this situation was that your superiors knew Miss Hall would never have uncovered the answers she had sought; Hydra was much too good at covering its tracks, at tying off loose ends, and with you and Winter to snipe the ones who already knew too much, Miss Hall certainly would have been dismissed by the media as a crackpot conspiracy theorist. There was no concrete need to rid the world of her._

“You aren’t focusing,” Winter snapped at you, mercilessly sending a knife flying towards your face. It was true, you were trapped in the few distant memories you were in possession of, but not so much that you couldn’t still avoid the oncoming blade. Wouldn’t have mattered much if Winter made contact; you just preferred not to have to go through the process of getting stitched up afterwards. “Where is your discipline?”

_Out of boredom, your superior officers had dispatched you anyway. Target practice, they’d called it. A mission without being accompanied by Winter, to make sure you would be efficient in solo work._

“My discipline,” you snapped, wrestling the knife from your fellow asset’s grasp and aiming it back at his chest. “Is where it always has been.” Winter was far too quick for the hit to land, and you’d known he would be. His cool metal fingers caught your wrist, twisting it and your arm around, forcing you to turn your back on him as he moved closer to hold you in a chokehold.

_You gathered your things, not that you had been allowed to bring much, and took one last thoughtful look at the body you had just stolen the life from, shock and fear still present in the woman’s eyes. You wondered where Regina Hall had originally been off to. She had circled her vehicle back to her work building, almost as an afterthought, like she had needed to pick something up before heading to another location. Had she forgotten an important file she needed to take home with her and stopped to pick it up on her way to a date? A dinner? A party?_

_Your answer came as you stepped out of her office and were confronted with a fluffy tutu and pink ballet flats._

“Explain yourself,” Winter hissed into your ear, the warmth of his breath oddly contrasting against the coolness of the room. Hydra insisted on keeping all asset designated environments much too cold for comfort; it kept both you and Winter dependent, psychologically and physically. “Or I’ll drag you to the reprogramming room myself.” He twisted your arm further, dragging a pained cry from deep within your chest. “Heard they’ve got a lot of new techniques they’ve been wanting to try on one of us.”

“ _Hi,” the little girl greeted you. This, presumably, was Sarah Hall, Regina’s daughter. The blonde hair and green eyes were the dead giveaway to their biological relation. “Have you seen my mommy? She left me waiting in the car, but she said she wouldn’t take that long.”_

_Curious, the lack of fear in this little girl’s eyes. All that was present in the depths of them were kindness and wonder._

“I... killed a mother,” you stated, thankful he couldn’t see your eyes. Normally you shied away from direct eye contact with anyone; it was partly out of obligation to your superiors, partly out of the recklessness which being emotionless left one with. When it came to Winter, though, it was based solely out of the closest thing you had to fear. You had seen his work, had trained with him, had felt how easily he could snap your neck with the slightest twitch of a metal finger. Something about the insistence in his voice forced you to be candid, despite the fact that any admittance of weakness would surely lead to a reprogramming session. “I don’t know what the importance of it is; it’s something I’ve done before. But this time... the daughter, she was present. I only found out after I completed my mission.”

Winter blinked, appraising you and analyzing your words with a level gaze. “And did you terminate the daughter? Hydra takes no prisoners and leaves no witnesses. You know this.”

“ _You...” Glancing between the girl and the door, you made an executive decision. Hydra didn’t know the girl was here; no one had said a word about her or requested a confirmation of her death. No witnesses were to be left, and every sense you possessed was warring with what you were about to do internally. No witnesses. But then, the girl wasn’t a witness — not until she stepped through her mother’s office door, that was. “You shouldn’t talk to strangers.”_

_You headed for the door and made swift work of exiting the building, pausing only briefly on your way out when you heard Sarah push through the door to her mother’s office, followed by the sound of screams._

You hesitated, but were unable to omit the truth. Your protocol hardwired you to be transparent when questioned. “I didn’t. She was only a girl, no more than ten. She was not a viable threat to the organization.”

“You spared her,” Winter stated. He let go of you suddenly, and you drew your arm close to your chest as you looked up at Winter’s face, framed with long hair and set with eyes which seemed to pierce the skin. “Even though it goes against your protocol. Why?”

“Because I felt... I took her mother from her. Taking her life would have made me guilty.”

“We can’t feel things,” he snapped. His gaze was only serving in unsettling you, and you wished your handler had just thrown you back into cryo until your next mission. “We don’t have the capacity. We’re machines.”

“Well, I did,” you pushed, setting your jaw and finding what little defiance you had in your chest. If Winter wanted to report you, fine. If he wanted to drag you to reprogramming, so be it. But the burning in your chest when you had seen that little girl, the thickness in your throat when faced with the possibility of having to terminate her had been too much. For someone who was meant to be devoid of emotion, you seemed to have a great deal of it within you. “I _do_.”

You braced yourself as soon as the word fell from your mouth. There it was; your admission of guilt, of the fact that you weren’t wholly operational. Secretly, you’d known this moment was inevitable, but you had avoided it for as long as possible. You wondered what your counterpart would do now, what Winter would say, who he would tell. You felt his eyes on your face, heavy and accusatory, and you forced yourself to, just this once, make eye contact, but what you found when you looked to his face left you breathless.

Winter was smiling.

—

**November 24th, 1963**

“I’m sorry,” Winter whispered, the muzzle of the gun he carried pressed to the skin of the back of your neck. Even just the fact that he knew those words, the fact that he could recognize and express sorrow, cancelled out the worry of what was about to happen to you.

“You shouldn’t be,” you told him. The two of you halted, waiting as the hydra security opened the door to the cryo room before stepping inside. The door sealed, and Winter dropped the gun, allowing you to turn to face him. It was just the two of you now. “This is my fault. I misfired intentionally.”

Winter nodded, exhaling through his nose in as close to a sigh as you had ever heard from him. “Either way, the president was terminated, so your punishment won’t be too harsh.”

You nodded, peering up at his oddly forgiving face. The temperature of the room was crawling across your skin, creeping into your veins and sending ice shards through your blood. “How long?”

Winter sucked his teeth, stepping around you and keying in the codes to open one of the cryogenic chambers. Strange. Wasn’t much like Winter to stall for time. “Five years,” he muttered under his breath. If you hadn’t been listening so closely, you wouldn’t have heard the words. “But they’re holding off on the mind wipe.”

“That’s a long time to be alone,” you murmured, but he said nothing in response, and you knew that he was more worried about your lengthy solitary confinement than his own metaphorical one. You stepped toward him, hesitantly reaching out a hand, then thinking better and dropping it back to your side. Thirteen years of the two of you confiding in one another, sharing secrets between missions and cryo sleeps, and the two of you had only just barely begun to remember how to casually touch. You’d seen the agents who were friends shake hands, clap backs, prop arms around one another. Despite their insistence that you weren’t human, that you didn’t need touch to function properly, you found that occasionally touching Winter always lent you the tiniest bit of strength. “Give me something to hold onto while I’m in there?”

Winter’s eyes softened. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence; you were just the only one who could recognize it for what it was. “I remembered my name,” he whispered, opening the door to the sleep chamber. You stepped inside, already shivering and longing for something warmer — even if that had to be a bullet through your skull. “Just the first part. It’s stupid, but it’s mine.” He grabbed your hand, the one you had dropped, and squeezed your fingers gently before withdrawing his touch.

Winter was much better at being human than you were.

“I’m Bucky.”

You smiled gently, fighting through the chattering of your teeth in order to respond. “Y-you’re right. That is... that’s p-pretty fucking stupid.”

Shaking his head, Winter began to close the cryo chamber on you, pausing as an afterthought and pushing his face closer to yours. “I know yours, too,” he whispered, urgency present in each of his words. “Saw it in a file. I could tell it to you, if you want.”

“Know what, Bucky?” The name felt strange rolling off your tongue, and yet it somehow seemed to belong there all the same. “How about you hang onto it until you see me again, and I’ll hang onto yours.”

Winter — _Bucky_ , as you would now refer to him in private — nodded curtly, and exhaled a moment longer than was necessary. “Have a good sleep,” he told you, and he pushed the door to the chamber the rest of the way shut, pressing his hand to the outside of the glass to mirror where you had pressed yours.

Bucky was the last thing you saw before losing consciousness to the wintry chill surrounding you.

—

**February 6th, 1975**

“You’re too close to me.”

“I like being close to you.”

“You’re going to get in trouble, Bucky.”

“Think I’m pretty justified in saying that you’re worth it, sugar.”

It was hard to keep a straight face when he dropped pet names like that, especially when the two of you were being escorted by agents to your mission vehicle. You would have no privacy until the two of you were speeding away on your motorcycle, and even then your quality time would be rather short lived. You were being dispatched to commit war crimes, after all. Hydra didn’t like phrasing it that way, but the longer you went without your mind being wiped, the more you discovered of the truth.

With that in mind, you would imagine Bucky might think better than to risk reprogramming simply to flirt with you.

“Hands to yourself, Soldier,” one of the handlers barked as Bucky’s hand swung too far away from his side, his pinky skipping over yours in only the slightest of brushes. Funny; they hated the touching, but they never bothered to put an end to your open whispers to one another. You supposed that said quite a bit about the organization’s values.

“Told you so,” you muttered beneath your breath.

Bucky raised his brows, and despite the mask obscuring the bottom half of his face, you knew his lips were curled into a shit eating grin. “Sweetheart, you’re not the type to say ‘I told you so.’”

“I don’t remember much about myself,” you teased, careful to keep your voice low, “but I do remember that yes, I am.”

The rest of your mission briefing went typically. Your handlers walked you to your vehicle, tagged you with your trackers, and handed you a deadline of seventy two hours. They never bothered to send any agents with the two of you on your co-op missions; they knew you would return by the designated times, because you knew that if they had to come searching after you, the chaos and wreckage would be much worse.

“I love you,” Bucky casually threw over his shoulder, once the agents were gone and you were seated on the back of the bike. He’d only just started the engine, and it took a few moments to discern what it was he had said, but even once you had, it felt like he had only been testing out the words.

“No you don’t,” you told him, your arms winding around his waist and securing yourself to him as he began revving the engine. Best to get a good grip on him now; Bucky was a reckless driver. “We don’t know what love feels like.”

There were a few moments of silence, thoughtful and significant. Then, “Well, I do.”

Huh. That was news to you.

“Okay,” you conceded, taking the bait. “Enlighten me, then. What does love feel like?”

“Feels like you.”

You weren’t given the chance to respond before Bucky shot the bike forward, wind whipping back against your face and body as you felt, for the first time in a while, your cheeks warming.

—

**October 12, 1979**

“You think we could have kids?”

You hummed, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s palm. “Not sure. I don’t remember everything they did to me, but I can’t imagine they wouldn’t have sterilized me. Less of a risk for them, probably.”

Bucky’s metal fingers danced across the skin of your neck, sending a tiny shiver down your spine. “Okay, so we’ll pretend we can. I’m... an accountant. Not a super important one, but I’m good at my job, so I can afford to buy us a house. Not a ridiculously big one, but one with enough rooms for all our kids to have their own. How many you want?”

“Three,” you decided, craning your neck to press a kiss to his cheek. He was stubbly; Hydra would need to shave it soon, lest it form into a full on beard.

“Three little monsters? Really?”

“Three,” you repeated matter of factly. “Two girls, one boy, but the boy’s the oldest. And we live in... upstate New York, in New Rochelle, and I work as an upscale fashion designer.”

Bucky let out a low whistle. “Fashion? Really?”

“Really,” you laughed, twirling a finger in his hair. “And we’re happy, in our fancy, not too big house with our three little monsters, and there’s an apple tree in the yard for them to climb.”

“How do you feel about dogs?”

“I love them.”

“I love _you_.”

“I love you, too,” you whispered as Bucky’s fingers traced patterns across your bare back. This wasn’t... traditional, by any means. The two of you were laying together on a cold, metal floor, uniforms strewn every which way and limbs tangled together as you relaxed in the aftermath of your... actions.

Maybe this was going too far, maybe there was no happy ending for the two of you here. How could there be? You were robots, discovering feelings which you weren’t meant to possess, dancing a dangerous dance which could eventually lead to one or both of you having your humanity stripped away from you all over again.

Maybe.

_Maybe_.

But then, maybe this would all somehow, _impossibly_ , work out.

—

**December 14th, 1991**

“It’s _pregnant_ ,” your handler hissed to the scientist, both of them standing above you as you stared up at the ceiling. It was all you could do; you were powerless to help yourself, or remove yourself from these restraints. You knew Bucky was, too, in whatever room he was being held in now. Otherwise he would be storming in and ripping the heads from the shoulders of these men. “This one and the other have been sneaking around, and now it’s pregnant. _Fix_ it.”

“Terminating the fetus shouldn’t be a—“

“ _No!”_  you screeched, fighting against the table to no avail. They couldn’t do this. They couldn’t take this from you. Your humanity was one thing. Your life and happiness were others. But your child — your and Bucky’s child, that? That was the one thing which crossed the line. “Please, _please_ , let me go! Let me go, leave us _alone!_ We just want... we just... please, we’re _happy_ , just leave us _alone!_ ”

They couldn’t.

They _couldn’t_.

Your handler stepped forward and let his palm fly, striking you across the face and snapping your head to the side. “You’re a fucking _machine_ ,” he snapped at you. “You certainly don’t get to _want_ things. Perhaps, soldier, if you hadn’t been so selfish? If you hadn’t thought you could entertain the emotions a real human feels? Perhaps you wouldn’t have found yourself in the situation you now face.” He turned back to the scientist overseeing your... whatever this was. “Terminate the fetus and wipe the shit out of her memories. I don’t want her remembering a god damn thing by the time you’re done with her.”

The scientist gulped, nodding and wringing his hands together. “A-and the Winter Soldier? Should I wipe him as well?”

It was probably for the best. Bucky had been present when the handlers had come to take you away, when they’d screamed the results of a secret blood test at you. He knew about the child; at least this way, once it was terminated, neither of you would have to remember it, or your love for each other. It was painful, and far from what you both deserved, but you supposed ignorance truly was bliss.

“No.” Ice shot into your veins at the sound of the denial. “Let him remember. We need him at his best for a mission in two days and reprogramming him now will only make his work shoddy.” The handler smiled down at you, sadistically. “Besides. Letting him remember and making sure she doesn’t? It’s practically a god damned Shakespearean tragedy.”

For what you were sure would be the first and last time in this frightfully unhappy existence of yours, you felt your heart break within your chest. You’d known deep within you that your tryst with Bucky wasn’t going to have a happy ending, but you had hoped it might anyway. Misguidedly, naively, selfishly, you had hoped.

_You had hoped_.

And it was that hope, so innocent and and pure and born of genuine love, that had ultimately been your downfall.


	3. The Good Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry to anyone who was waiting on the final chapter, I could have sworn I had posted it already but I guess not! I hope you all enjoy!!

**April 4th, 2014**

He gazed at you through the glass of your cryogenic chamber, setting his jaw as he brushed his fingers over the cool barrier, just above your cheek. It was easy to pretend you were only sleeping, and he supposed that helped some. If he just imagined that you were in a bed instead of a chamber, bathed in sunshine and warmth as opposed to the icy, unforgiving environment he had experienced first hand, then he could pretend you weren’t in any pain at all.

He could pretend, and he would; he’d been doing it for the past twenty three years, after all.

“I miss you,” he whispered, powerless to do anything but look after you and  _ wish _ , and he was certainly no stranger to that action.

They never cared when he came to visit you, not anymore. Some of them even encouraged it, thought it was funny. They’d send him on his missions, force him to kill countless bodies. He never minded, really; without you around, violence was the only thing he was good at, and he couldn’t much remember how to do anything else. Hydra ad begun to selectively wipe his memories. They took away his personality, his humanity and compassion, but they always so carefully left his memories of you in tact. You were quite literally the only thing he remembered now, you and his tragically fond memories of laughter and happiness.

“Going to see your baby mama,  _ Bucky? _ ” the one named Rumlow had sneered at him in passing. Rumlow insisted on using the old name, but hearing it was like hot knives raking across skin. He wasn’t Bucky anymore, not without you, and he took every opportunity to forget the name. “Give her a kiss for me, will you? Fucking pathetic.”

He had ignored it, only trudging on to sit with you for a time before being shipped out on whatever mission they needed him on next. Rumlow would get what was coming to him one day.

“I miss you,” he whispered again, this time pressing his forehead to the glass, squeezing his eyes shut. And then, just because his resolve was particularly weak today, “Come back to me? Please? It doesn’t have to be today or tomorrow, but… I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this, sugar. I need you.”

“Report for duty, Soldier,” his handler’s voice crackled through the piece in his ear. He sighed deeply, blinking his eyes open and stepping away as his handler continued. “Mission assigned from Alexander Pierce, head of Hydra.”

He looked at you one last time, reflexively wiping at tears that weren’t even present as he began to make his way from the cryogenic room. “Who is the target?” he asked simply, pulling his mask over his face and heading for the armory. Visiting you and remembering all the pain and misery of losing you always put him in quite the shooting mood. He hated killing, innocents especially, but as long as he imagined his marks as the Hydra agents who had done this to him, he didn’t care as much.

“Fury, Nicholas J. Instructions are to terminate by whatever means necessary. Failure to comply will result in the immediate termination of Asset 2.”

He wasn’t sure why the words surprised him; the agents had been using the threat of your death against him for years in order to maximize his compliance. Just another way to drive home the fact that he wasn’t in control, he supposed, but they’d made that explicitly clear twenty three years ago, when they’d…

He didn’t like to think about it.

“Mission accepted and understood,” he muttered, then muted the ear piece. It was wrong of him to think so, and very selfish, considering if his thoughts came to pass then your fate would be left up in the air, but he still hoped that despite all of this, despite how unlikely he was to fail… he hoped this was the mission that ended him. He no longer had the capacity to believe in any gods or higher powers, but he silently prayed to whomever might be listening to just let him die and be done with this bleak, awful existence, cursed to remember you for the rest of his prolonged days with no death in sight.

He hoped this mission killed him.

That, at least, would be less painful than having to come back to your cryo chamber and have his calls and pleas for a gentler life land upon deaf and powerless ears.

—

**Present day**

“Bucky?”

He was pulled from his reverie by the voice of his young friend, eyes drawn immediately to her short form as she stepped from the room and quietly closed the door behind her. She was dressed amazingly casually compared to what her normal clothing consisted of, and her dark hair was twisted back in many braids, falling to her waist and swaying with each movement she took. The smile she offered was gentle, but satisfied. He knew that look; it had been the same look she’d worn when she had calibrated his new arm, had attached it to his neurotransmitters and given him the ability to feel with his metal fingertips.

The princess of Wakanda’s telltale expression for good news had never been a more welcome sight.

“It’s done,” Shuri told him, eyes softening as she took in his disheveled appearance. “Her mind was quite the tangled mess, but no worse than yours. She didn’t wake up once, either.”

“And it worked?” Bucky breathed, not willing to give himself false hope. Not where you were concerned.

“Like a charm,” Shuri confirmed. She only laughed softly when Bucky rushed forward to wrap her in his arms, picking her up and spinning her around twice before depositing her back on the floor. Lucky that none of her Dora Milaje detail were present; they’d known him a few years, but they still got antsy when he so openly rushed Shuri like that. How could he not, though? She and T’Challa had practically become as good as family during his stay in their country. “She should be awake by morning. What will you tell her?”

He thought a moment, unsure of how to answer the question. It was something he’d been pondering himself for the past three days, and wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped it might be. Twenty three years of being without you as the soldier had been awful enough, but then four years of being awake and living as Bucky in your absence, able to truly feel that pain and mourn for the loss of what the two of you had kindled despite all of the odds being stacked against you? It wasn’t a question of what he wanted to say to you, so much as what he should.

“We’ll start with the basics,” Bucky answered, raising a shoulder in a half shrug. “That she’s safe, and she never has to worry about Hydra again. I’ll tell her that I love her, and I always will. And I’ll… I’ll make sure she knows that no matter what, she’s free now. She can come and go as she pleases, and live whatever life she wants.”

Shuri nodded, tilting her head to the side. Bucky didn’t miss the mischievous look in her eyes as she asked, “And will you also be showing her that gift from my brother?” He hadn’t exactly planned on it, but now he was considering.

“You don’t think that would be too overwhelming?” he asked, blinking in surprise. “That’s a half hour drive outside of the city, Shuri.”

“And?” she responded. “That girl’s been through it, Bucky. Least you could do is extend the offer of a little sunshine to her.”

Bucky didn’t respond, only directed his gaze to the bedroom door, ignoring the fact that the feeling in his chest said Shuri was absolutely right. She was correct, of course, but she didn’t need to know that; the princess was already much too smug for her own good. “I’m gonna go in and wait for her to wake up,” he murmured, turning back to Shuri and hugging her once more. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. It really means a lot to me.”

Shuri crossed her arms over her chest in the Wakandan salute, and Bucky, out of reflex, reciprocated automatically. “What else is family for?”

—

Something was wrong, and you knew this as soon as you regained consciousness. Whatever you were laying on was much too soft, your surroundings all too warm. What really made you worried, though, was that for once in your life, as you opened your eyes and saw sunshine streaming through large picture windows, your mind was quiet. There were no harsh sounds of a science lab in the background, no electric crackling emitted by a reprogramming machine. No voices shouting, no barking, no cold or pain. For the first time in what had to be a little less than a century, your mind was completely and utterly at peace.

Strange.

It didn’t take you long to find him. You’d been able to sense his presence as soon as you had regained consciousness, and as your eyes adjusted to the sunlight, you looked to his figure, settled into an armchair just a few feet from the bed. Your first thought was that the fact he’d even gone to the trouble was outrageous. The bed you were in was enormous; there’d have been plenty of room for him to lay beside you and not even brush your skin. Your second thought was that, even after almost thirty years, Bucky impossibly looked the same, only with shorter hair and more stubble.

“I’m not hand cuffed to anything,” you stated, doing your best to ignore the throbbing at the back of your head. “That was stupid of you.”

Bucky didn’t miss a beat, only sat there with his arms over his chest as he arched an eyebrow. “Only would’ve been stupid if you had woken up ready to kill.”

“Who says I didn’t?”

His mouth quirked into the tiniest of smirks, and as your eyes adjusted and you really looked at him, you saw tears in his eyes, set shimmering by the rays of light streaming through the window. “Ready to kill  _ me _ , I mean.”

Your lip was quivering, despite your best efforts to hide the fact, and you could feel your chest tightening and your hands shaking. You kept blinking, kept expecting the warmth and the sunshine to melt into darkness and revert to a science lab, but as hard as you tried, you couldn’t make it happen. This couldn’t be real. You were a machine, a tool used to carry out Hydra’s dirty work, and they’d taken everything from you so many years ago. This couldn’t be  _ real _ .

And yet, impossibly, mercifully, it was.

“So, what,” you began, voice cracking and tears spilling over onto your cheeks, “you’re not gonna throw yourself at my feet and tell me how relieved you are that I’m okay? What kind of love of my life are you?”

Bucky laughed, batting at his own tears and standing, walking forward until he was at your side. “I mean, you  _ did  _ try to murder me last night.”

“Shut up and come here,” you whispered through your tears, and he listened. Bucky sat beside you, immediately pulling you into his chest and squeezing you just as tightly as he could, stroking your hair as you buried your face into his shirt and let yourself sob. The two of you cried together, out of relief and happiness and, truthfully, just a bit out of grief, too. Grief for the time you’d spent away from one another, mourning for the child you had lost decades ago; there was a lot of pain the two of you would need to work through, but for now? For now you would limit it, and simply allow yourself to be relieved and held and cherished.

“How’d you, how’d you fix me?” you murmured into Bucky’s chest once your cries had died down. You were still a bit sniffly, but you had too many questions to let your emotions stop you. “I was totally about to kill you last time I was awake.”

“My friend Shuri did it,” he told you. “She did the same for me, when I woke up. She already had the procedure perfected, it was just a matter of getting it done.”

You threw more questions at him, and he answered each and every one of them. It was probably getting a bit redundant, but you had missed quite a bit of information. Being locked in a cryo tube off and on for the better part of almost a century was bound to have that sort of effect. You asked how long Bucky had been away from Hydra, how his life was, who Shuri was, if he was doing okay, if he’d smiled recently. Questions of a trivial nature first, and then, eventually, you got into the heavier ones. How bad was the damage you had done, how long did he think it would be until Hydra came after you, how long the government would want to throw you in prison for.

You’d nearly lost your mind when Bucky had informed you that not only was Hydra currently in the middle of being disbanded and you had been deployed as a last ditch effort, but you had also been pardoned by the Obama administration in the year 2016, as one of the president’s last acts in office.

“Said you were no different than a prisoner of war,” Bucky told you, “and said if I ever got you back, he’d love to have dinner with the two of us sometime.”

The underlying message had taken a few moments to hit home. “So I’m… you and me, we’re…?”

“Free as birds,” Bucky answered, looking down at you where he had you cradled in his arms. “And you can go wherever you want, do whatever you can think of. Nobody’s gonna tell you what to do anymore, not ever again. All we have to do is get you to Shield HQ so they can run some paperwork and give you your compensation, and after that you’re home free.”

It felt like you were floating. How many times had you longed to hear those exact words? Daydreamed about walking in the sun with Bucky, before Hydra had stolen those memories from you? How many times had you yearned for this?

“Then let’s get going,” you told him, craning your neck to press a kiss to his cheek. He stiffened a moment, but relaxed half a second later. Probably wasn’t used to the familiar contact anymore, as sad as that was to think about. “Sooner we get that done, sooner you and I can fuck off to nowhere. And that’s something I’ve been wanting to do with you for a very,  _ very  _ long time.”

“We’ll get it done,” Bucky assured you, smiling widely. “But there are a couple of people I want you to meet first. And, if you’re up for it, I wanna take you on a drive. I’ve got somewhere special to show you.”

“Do we have enough time for that?” You asked him, tilting your head in curiosity. This time it was Bucky’s turn to lean down, and he pressed his kiss gently to your forehead.

“Sweetheart,” he mumbled, once again hugging you to his chest. “You and I have all the time in the world.”

—

“I told you not to look at the road signs,” Bucky chastised you, turning down the radio to make sure his point got across.

“It didn’t even tell me what city we’re going to, calm down,” you laughed. You’d been in this car thirty minutes, waiting as Bucky drove you to whatever surprise he had in store. If you really wanted to look at the road signs to deduce where he was taking you, he wouldn’t had noticed you doing it. You were trained in stealth, after all.

“Doesn’t matter now,” Bucky informed you, a smile lifting his cheeks. “We’re practically there.” At his news, you turned to look out the window, taking in the sights which you had done your best not to see for the sake of his surprise.

It was a sweet little neighborhood, all sunshine and happy colored houses. Countless minivans and SUVs lined the streets, telling tales of large families with many children. One house had a bicycle and a soccer ball in the grass; another driveway had a teenager and a father taking advantage of the nice weather to wash their car, soapy water running into the grate in the street. Bucky kept driving, and you passed countless domestic scenarios until you reached the end of the street, eventually pulling the car into the driveway of the last house on the block.

“We’re here,” he told you, unbuckled and halfway around the car to open your door before you could even blink.

The house he had parked in from ideas a nice one. Two stories, spacious and inviting, and predominantly white in color. The porch was painted blue and large, wrapping around the entire house. The front doors were double, and appeared to be a nice cherry wood. The shutters were the same color as the porch, and you could see several large windows allowing the light into the home. It looked pleasant, inviting. You imagined whoever lived here must be quite the happy family.

“Where are we?” you questioned, your eyes flitting between Bucky and the unfairly cheerful neighborhood he’d brought you to. “What is this place?”

“Well—“ He was cut off by small shouts from across the street, prompting the both of you to turn around.

Five children, three boys and two girls, came bounding toward you, their basketball left to roll a ways down the street as they abandoned it in favor of rushing to you. All of the children appeared to be similar in age, but the eldest looked to be no more than eleven. You’d tensed up at their calls, at the sight of them charging forth, but Bucky’s hand had grasped yours to give a gentle squeeze, and you had calmed down somewhat.

“Mr. Barnes!” they collectively shouted, words layering over one another like ripples in a pond. “You’re back!”

“Kiddos!” Bucky greeted them, kneeling and releasing your hand before throwing his arms wide open. The children all but mobbed him, little arms encircling his biceps, his neck, his torso, shrieks of delight ringing in your ears as you watched, standing quietly to the side. “ _ How  _ have my favorite neighborhood trouble makers been? You five been good for your mom and dad lately?”

Each of their dark heads nodded, and one of the girls, who looked so similar to one another that you knew instantly they had to be identical twins, raised her hands in the air. “They said we get to go to Disneyland this summer, Mr. Barnes! Isn’t that the greatest thing ever? Me and Meredith are gonna ride the tea cups!” Her twin sister nodded enthusiastically, the two girls clasping hands as they giggled in excitement.

“Carmen,” one of her brothers chastised her, gently setting a hand on his sister’s shoulder and rubbing his eye behind his glasses with the other. He was the oldest, if his maturity was anything to go by. “Bragging isn’t nice.”

Carmen audibly gasped, clearly affronted. “I’m not bragging Emmett, I’m just telling him! I’m allowed to  _ tell  _ him things!”

At Emmett’s side, the two younger boys were whispering to one another and not so subtly motioning towards you. It was sort of cute, how obvious their actions were. Children were wonderful, and you liked to think you always thought so, but they weren’t very good at being discrete. Eventually one of them stepped forward, and you took note of his curly hair and casted arm as he reached up with his good hand to tug at Bucky’s shirt. “Excuse me Mr. Barnes, but Peyton and I have a question.”

Bucky grinned down at the boy, eyes flicking between him and Peyton in amusement. “Well you and Peyton are in luck, Cam, because I bet you I have an answer. What do you wanna know?”

“Who’s that lady you brought with you?”

All eyes suddenly found their way to you, and you only just realized that all five of these kids had the exact same pair of brown eyes. Some strong genetics, those were. Bucky’s smile only grew wider, and he rose to his full height and stepped backwards, proudly placing an arm around your shoulders. “This,” he announced, eyes shining in the sun, “is my sweetheart. The one I’ve been telling you about.”

One by one, the children’s mouths fell open as they each made the connection to whatever Bucky was referring to. One of the twins — Meredith, if you remembered which was which — threw her hands into the air and yelled, “Holy  _ shi _ —“

“ _ Meredith Gloriana Ramirez _ , if the words I think you’re about to say come out of your mouth I will wash it out with soap for the next _ three months. _ ” Your eyes snapped up at the spanish accented voice, finding a short, dark haired and olive skinned woman confidently striding towards the scene on the sidewalk, a kind but stern expression settled over her features as she came forth. “How many times have I told you five to give James his privacy when he comes home? You five go inside and help your father finish making lunch.”

There were many grumbles and curious glances sent your way by the children, but they minded their mother, saying their goodbyes to Bucky and marching back across the street and into their home. The woman glanced between you and Bucky once they were gone, an apologetic look on her face. “I’m sorry if they bothered you two. They just get  _ so  _ excited when you visit, James.”

“No trouble at all,” Bucky answered, shrugging a shoulder and subconsciously squeezing your hand. He loved kids, which you knew. No way five neighborhood children would ever be a problem for him; you’d just forgotten how amazing with children Bucky was. “Esperanza, this is my… this is Y/n. She’s the one I’ve been telling you about.”

Esperanza’s eyes widened, taking in your appearance from head to toe. She gazed at you, shock and amazement on her face. “ _ Dios mio _ ,” she breathed, face breaking out into one of the biggest smiles you had ever witnessed. “It is so nice to finally meet you! I’m Esperanza.” She punctuated her sentence by thrusting her hand forward for you to shake, and you accepted it. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to frighten you, it’s just— I met James while he was having this house built, and my husband and I have heard so much about you! I’ll leave you two to yourselves, but I’m just across the street if you need anything!” And with that, Esperanza stepped away, pausing every few feet to smile at you over her shoulder until she made it into her home, where her children were not so surly peaking through the curtains at you. You lifted your hand to wave at them and they appeared to squeal, immediately yanking the curtains in front of their faces.

“Bucky,” you began, looking back to him in amusement. “Where —? Where are we?”

Bucky’s eyes glimmered as he walked you up to the porch of the house he had parked in front of, sitting you down on the porch swing and pushing strands of your hair behind your ear. He blinked a couple times, seeming oddly nervous before answering your question. “324 Cherry Lane, New Rochelle, New York.”

You blinked, not sure you had heard him correctly. New Rochelle? Why would he have brought you to a house in New Rochelle?

“When I was staying in Wakanda,” Bucky began, looking for all the world like he was a skittish school boy confessing his love to his childhood sweetheart. “The king, T’Challa, he and I got to know each other quite a bit. He and I both had a lot to talk about in the romantic department, and eventually I got comfortable enough to talk about you. How much I love you, what Hydra did to us, and how, despite everything that had been done to us, all we ever wanted was a house big enough for three kids to have their own rooms in New Rochelle. Next thing I know, guy buys me a plot of land and gives me the funds to build whatever kind of house I want. T’Challa’s a bit of a sap, but don’t tell him I said that.”

You were confused. It felt like the air had been violently punched out of your lungs, but sort of in a good way. It was coming back to you now, that day with Bucky when the two of you had been imagining a simpler, much happier life for yourselves.

_ And we’re happy, in our fancy, not too big house with our three little monsters with an apple tree in the yard for them to climb _ .

“You didn’t,” you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes. Christ, had you always been this emotional before Hydra had turned you into an assassin? Seemed like all you ever did was cry. “Bucky, You  _ didn’t _ .”

“This is a four bedroom house,” Bucky told you, lip trembling and eyes becoming red with his effort not to cry. “We can always expand it, if you want to have more kids, but I figure three is a good place to start. There’s an apple tree in the backyard for them to climb; for some reason it only grows green ones, so I hope you don’t mind. And, when we’re ready, there’s a humane society adoption center fifteen minutes from our house. We have good neighbors, and we live in a good school district, and  _ please  _ say something before I start crying, sugar, because once I get started it’s not gonna stop for a—“

You surged forward, capturing Bucky’s lips in the first kiss you had shared since waking up as yourself. It wasn’t passionate, or fire inducing, or anything like that. Actually, with as many years out of practice as you were, it was pretty clumsily executed, but you didn’t care. There would always be more time for the two of you to work on that, perfect it.

It was like Bucky had said earlier that morning. The two of you, now that you were reunited, had all the time in the world.

“So you like it?” he asked, genuine hesitance present in his words.

You rolled your eyes, hugging him tightly and thanking your lucky stars that after so many years away, after enduring so much pain and cruelty and misery, you were finally here, with the love of your life,  _ happy _ . “I love it.”

“I love  _ you _ .”

You smiled and kissed him again, leaning your head against his shoulder once you pulled away. “I love you, too.”

 


End file.
